


Outrider

by the_awkward_outlaw



Category: Red Dead 2, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Arthur Morgan fic, Blood, Death, F/M, Fairly Cannon, My original character - Freeform, Red Dead Redemption fic, Rockstar Games, Swearing, Violence, Western, but with a twist, mature themes, novel-length
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_awkward_outlaw/pseuds/the_awkward_outlaw
Summary: It's the end of the days of the Wild West. The law is closing in, making living as an outlaw harder than ever. However, that will not stop Samantha Hunter, a long time member of the Van der Linde gang. She's determined to remain in her ways of life, forever accompanied by her partner Arthur Morgan. They face many challenges and unexpected turns, dive headlong into many shoot outs and say good-bye to dear friends. As they go, they realize that although their lifestyle may have chosen them, it will not make living easy. All Samantha can do is hang on and take the turns as they come.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan X Original Female Character, Arthur Morgan x female OC - Relationship
Kudos: 9





	Outrider

Prologue

I scan the crowded street from my secluded balcony, searching for just the right person. An easy mark with a good payout. After this last month, I need something easy. I guess it’s just my good fortune these traveling performers are here in town. They’ve drawn a good crowd. Someone easy must be here. After all, most of them look like tourists from the city, and city folks are always easy. 

I don’t hear the dialogue of the actors, they’re doing their job and I’m doing mine. Just as two of the actors pretend to have a brawl, which causes laughter from the audience, I spot a target standing in the back half of the crowd. An ageing man, probably in his early forties. He’s wearing a suit and from what I can see from my elevated viewpoint, he looks like a softie. Even as I study him, he pulls out a pocket watch. That thing must be worth twelve dollars at least. It’d be enough to buy me food for a week and a good bath. 

After watching him for a few more moments, I carefully climb down from the balcony. Thank God the man who owns the apartment attached to the balcony is down watching the actors. I can’t risk getting caught on his balcony again. Last time was too close. I think I still have a bruise on my arm from when he tried to grab me. 

As soon as my feet hit the dusty road, I hunker down and start slowly making my way towards the man. It’s a good thing most people don’t notice a thirteen year old girl like myself, and that I’m as short as I am (though I’m really hoping for a good growth spurt soon). It makes sneaking among all these grown ups so much easier. Even as I make my way to the man, I spy a little sapphire pin on a lady’s purse, so I swipe it and stuff it into my pants pocket. 

Finally I’m close to the man, standing just behind him. I have to wait though, the actors are having a quieter scene. I need them to really draw the crowd’s attention, his attention. The more time I have to loot the guy’s pockets, the better. I bet he’s loaded. I feel my stomach rumble, reminding me how badly I need this. 

Just as I’m growing desperate for the actors to have a loud scene, a new actor comes out. A man wearing a frilly dress and the crowd bursts into laughter. They’re so loud I can’t even hear what the actors are saying, but I don’t care. I’ve got the distraction I need. I carefully glide my hands from his coat pockets, finding relatively less than I’d expected. Only a few small bills, but no matter. He’s probably got his goods stashed in pockets closer to his person. These soft types usually do. I pocket the money and continue to gently search his pockets. 

Right as I’m about to reach into the pocket I’d seen him stuff his watch into, his hand reaches into the same pocket, bumping into my arm. It’s only a second, but our eyes meet. 

“Hey!” he says and I bolt. I dash between people, kicking a few in the shins to slow down the man who’s now barreling after me, hollering at people to move. I make my way towards the balcony. If I can manage to get up to it, I’ll be safe. The fella who owns the apartment never locks the doors leading into his home (but I’ve never pressed my luck by robbing him when he’s been out). I can get inside and make an easy getaway. 

As I dash towards it, I see another man standing right next to the support rod I use to climb. He has a determined, almost cheeky, look on his face. He’s clearly attempting to help the fella I just robbed and knows right where I’m heading, so I quickly turn and head towards another alleyway I’m familiar with. 

“I said stop!” yells the man I’d been robbing. I don’t listen though, instead I run even faster. Except now we’re out of the crowd. I may have been quicker when it came to zigzagging between people, but now he’s got the advantage with his longer legs out in the open. 

I’m about to reach the alleyway when I feel a hard tug on my jacket collar. He gives a hard jerk, pulling me a step backwards, but I wiggle my arms loose and dash away again, leaving my jacket dangling from his hand. I hear him swear as I head down the main street. I realize now that I can’t lose him on open ground, I need to be somewhere crowded. However, as I look back, I see the man who’d been blocking the balcony joining his side. They both look furious.

I continue on down the main street, dashing between carriages and pedestrians alike, but the two men still have the advantage. They’re just too tall for me to lose them. I know I’m in trouble, my stamina is weigning. My lungs feel fit to burst and my thighs are begging me to stop. I can’t though. 

I turn onto a smaller street and run right into a horse, who spooks and rears up. The driver of the carriage yells something at me, but I just pick myself up and run down a narrow passageway between the brothel and the saloon the miners hang out in. Now I’m really at a disadvantage, I’m not very familiar with this area. I usually give it a wide berth to avoid those other kids. 

The passageway takes me down the length of the buildings and then it’s forced to the right where it stops. Shit, a dead end. However, as I stand and listen, I don’t hear the two men coming. I must have lost them. Feeling exhilarated, I give myself a minute to catch my breath. That’s all I can afford. I know how dangerous it is in this part of town for me. 

Right before my minute ends, I hear someone snickering behind me. My heart’s pumping again when I hear his voice. “Thought we told you to stay out of our part of town, little girl.” Crap, it’s Henry. That bastard who thinks he’s all high and mighty when he can’t be more than a couple years older than myself. 

I turn, immediately on the defensive, but I have to play this cool. Henry’s backed by his three typical goons. They’re big boys, though probably about my age. Henry’s the shortest, but he’s the leader seeing as he’s less dumb than they are. I hate their gang. They make my life all that much harder. While I may not be any more innocent than they are in that I rob people blind, I don’t go robbing other kids in the same situation as myself. These bastards might as well be coyotes. Picking off the scraps from those who actually do the work. 

“Nice to see you too, Henry,” I say coolly. 

He smiles and takes a couple steps towards me. He clasps his hands flat together and gives me a rather patronizing look. “I’m sure. But I repeat myself, thought we told you to stay outside of our town. Don’t you have some balcony to sit on? Or are you done with your game of vulture?” 

The other boys chuckle at this. I know they’re jealous because I’m small and can go places they can’t. Besides, that balcony is prime territory to scope out fools to rob. But I’m the only kid who’s figured out when it’s safe to be up there and when it’s not. 

Henry takes another few steps, looking arrogant and smug. “Well, since you’ve trespassed here again, I think you ought to pay a toll. Now come on, empty your pockets.” 

“No! You assholes ain't robbing me again. How about instead of picking on us loners, you go and rob these fools yourselves?” 

Henry tilts his head and smirks. “Why? So much easier to do it this way. Besides, you loners find the good stuff. You know, someone like you could have made it really good with people like us. Too bad you burned your bridge.” 

“Yeah, except I know the kids who rob for you have to give you their whole cut and then ask for it back if they wanna buy something. Some of us actually like to benefit from our work, Henry. You might as well be a pimp.” 

His hand suddenly comes up and slaps my face. I know I’ve touched a nerve, but I’m not letting him rob me again. He’s the reason I’ve had such a bad month. He’s bullied and assaulted me three times this month already, stealing what I’ve robbed from folk. I promised myself after last time I wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

His thugs laugh as I straighten up, touching the tender spot on my lip. That’s when I pull my knife. I happened to steal it from a fella two weeks ago. Henry’s eyes immediately go to it and his eyes widen. The blade’s finally engraved and the handle’s got a handsome finish to it. Sure, I could have sold it and gotten a very decent takeback, but it was the protection I wanted. 

“Now that’s a nice piece. Why don’t we make it even? You give me that knife and I’ll let you leave with everything else you got?” Henry simpers. 

“You really expect me to believe you? I may be dumb, but I ain’t that stupid.” 

“Give it to me!” Henry says, and he swipes for the blade. I dash out of the way and cut his hand, he shrieks like a little girl. I laugh and tell him so and that’s when his thugs come into play. However, I'm determined. I start spitting and yowling like a cat and slashing any body part that comes close to me. There’s a lot of yelling and thrashing, but I don’t stop. I’m not giving up.

“Hey!” comes a new voice. All of us stop our squabble and look up at the newcomer. Shit. It’s the guy who blocked the balcony when I tried to escape earlier. Behind him is the man I robbed, my jacket dangling from his hand. 

Henry, little coward he is, quickly darts past the two guys, followed by his goons. I half expect the men to stop them, but they don’t. After all, their quarrel is with me. The two men watch the boys run off and then they turn back to me, their eyes hard and focused. 

My run is done, but I won’t go down without a fight. I’ve got nothing to lose at this point, and everything to gain. I don’t intend to kill these two men, I don’t think I’m physically capable of it, but I’m gonna try and maybe give them some scars to remember me by. My hand readjusts the knife handle as I’m preparing to fight. 

However, the men don’t come at me. Instead, the one who blocked me puts his hands on his hips and smiles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard someone fight like that. Those boys didn’t stand a chance against you.” 

I say nothing, still hunkered down and ready to attack. These guys are probably just stalling, trying to get me off guard. Instead the gray haired man whom I robbed takes a step forward. 

“What’s your name, girl?” he asks in a gentle voice. It’s higher than his friend’s. 

“What’s it matter?” I spit. 

“It matters,” says the other man. He’s got black hair and a thick mustache. “Because we didn’t come here to take back what you took from us. Though we’ve certainly got the right. I must say, I’m rather intrigued. How long you been robbin’ folk?” 

“Long enough,” I say. I’m really not interested in talking. I just want to get away from here, put my ill-gotten gains in my stash on the other side of town. 

“How old are you?” says the gray haired man. 

“Like I said, what’s it matter?” 

The black haired man chuckles. “Hosea, something tells me this girl don’t trust us. Now miss, I promise you, we mean you no harm. Sure, you robbed my friend here, but we have no intentions of hurting you or turning you in. We just wanna ask you some questions, that’s all. As soon as we’re done, you can leave, along with what you’ve taken from us. Sound fair?” 

The man obviously knows that he and his friend Hosea have gotten me cornered. They’re blocking the only way out, all the walls around me are too tall and smooth for me to climb out. I just wish they would let me leave, but if all they’re wanting is answers, then maybe they’ll let me off. Besides, I don’t have to answer all their questions. 

“Fine,” I finally say, but I don’t change my stance or put my knife away. 

“Good. A little cooperation,” says the dark haired man. I can see a clever glint in his eye. “So tell me. You running with anyone?” 

I swallow. “No. Other kids like me, they want what I can take.”

“Like those boys back there?” asks Hosea and I nod. 

The other man nods, his face thoughtful. “You’ve obviously been doin’ this a long time though. You’re too good to be new.” 

Hosea nods, a small smile on his face. “Yes. I didn’t even know you were robbing me until my hand bumped yours.”

“And the way you fought those boys,” the other man chuckles again. “I think if you were properly trained to fight, those boys would have been in big trouble. Not that you weren’t doing a decent job on them.” 

He rubs his chin for a moment. I just stare at them. Considering they wanted to ask me questions, they haven’t asked a whole lot. I’m waiting for the but. The man tilts his head, then sighs. 

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Samantha.” 

“Listen, Samantha, you ain’t the only one in this alleyway who’s robbed folk,” the man says with an edge of pride. 

I look up at him, not knowing what to expect. Fine, so he knows what it’s like to be in my shoes, to feel the only way to get on in life is to take from those more fortunate than ourselves. But that doesn't mean he isn’t going to take from me too.

“That’s right, Samantha,” says Hosea. “But it’s hard to go it alone. You probably know that better than anyone. It’s much easier to do it with people you can trust.” 

“I don’t trust anyone,” I say. “I don’t have that luxury.” 

“But I think you could,” the other man says. “You think you might wanna try? We got a little gang of our own. Think Susan might like you, and Arthur… well, we’ll see. I imagine he’ll come around after a while.” 

The two men smile at each other at the mention of this Arthur, then they look back at me. 

“What do you say, Samantha? You want to try?” Hosea asks. 

Of course, red flags are going up in my head. But at the same time, I feel the first flicker of hope I’ve felt in months. There hasn’t been a single night I’ve spent since my mama died that I haven’t been afraid for my life. I envied Henry and his boys, they might be awful kids but they could depend on each other for protection. Perhaps these men could do the same for me. Plus they mentioned I need training to fight, and it’s possible they could give that to me. 

Hardly daring to believe I could be so foolish, I straighten up finally. “You say you got a gang? You protect each other?” 

“Yes. I don’t know if it’s much of a gang, there’s not really a whole lot of us, but… we’re hoping to start expanding,” says Hosea. For some reason, I can’t help but feel a bit of trust towards him. 

As I think about my chances with my future options, my stomach sinks at the thought of continuing to go it alone. I’ve been doing that for a couple of years now, so I know what spending the future like that will offer. Plus Henry’s now a bigger threat than ever. I’ve bested him and he won’t be likely to take that well. He’ll probably come into my part of town with half his gang and make sure I get a good beating. 

Then I think about what a future I could have with these two men. Obviously I can’t say what will happen, but it couldn’t be worse than my other option. Besides, maybe I’ll finally find something worth living for, rather than eeking a living simply for the sake of being alive. Not only that, Henry won’t dare to come near me if I have adults backing me up. 

I sigh and look at the two men for a second. “Well, I’ve never said no to an adventure before.” 

“Good. Come on, then. We’ll take you to Susan, she’ll know what to do,” says the dark haired man. 

I hesitantly follow them out of the alleyway, never sheathing my knife. Of course, part of me is freaking out. Am I really so dumb as to trust strangers like these two? They could be planning to murder me, or worse. Yet the alleyway we were just in would be the perfect place for them to have done anything to me. It’s quiet and secluded. No one goes back there. So logically they must be telling the truth, or at least part of it. 

Still that bubble of hope fills my chest. If they are being honest, then this could be the first time in years I’ve been able to experience companionship. I’ve been so lonely, surrounded by strangers. So hungry to feel like I’m wanted. 

As we enter the town square where this all started, I stare up at the balcony I was perching on earlier. The owner of the apartment is standing on it, smoking a cigarette. Perhaps I’m being foolish, but I hope I never have to stand there ever again. Maybe, just maybe, these two men can give me something better than what I’m leaving behind. 

********************************

Chapter 1 - The Journal 

It’s been twenty years since Hosea and Dutch picked me up from that alleyway. When I imagined the potentials of my future when they found me, they wouldn’t even come close to how they turned out. Things haven’t been easy, of course, but better than running alone. I found the closest thing to a family with them and our gang, which has grown considerably since I first joined. 

When Dutch and Hosea brought me to their gang, it was really just them, Susan Grimshaw, an old man they called Uncle, and a boy named Arthur Morgan. I don’t know if boy is a proper word, he was only a few years older than myself and was closer to a man than a boy. A couple of years after I joined, Dutch and Hosea brought home another boy named John Marston, about the age I was when they brought me in. From there, our gang has grown to what it is now, over twenty strong. 

Not everyone in our gang is a cold-hearted outlaw in the ways most people would think. Sure, most of us have robbed and even killed a few folk. I am no exception. But there are those who are innocent. Like Jack Marston, only five years old, son of John Marston and Abigail Roberts. I don’t really know if you could call him innocent since he’s living amongst a wild bunch of vagabonds, but he’s the closest. 

Of course, some in our gang are just people who have lost their way and have nowhere to go that society would accept. Like Reverend Swanson. Poor man, he was a man of the cloth until he suffered a pretty bad injury several years ago and became addicted to the morphine and alcohol he used to drown out the pain. He’s a pretty good thief though, not that I’m surprised. I’ve always associated men of religion to be some of the best crooks society has to offer. At least thieves like myself have the ability to say we rob honestly. 

Over the years, we’ve added more women, which has been a relief for me. Sure, Grimshaw was there before me, but we have a few other girls now. It’s nice to know I wasn’t the only woman society refused to help when I was starving on the streets. Mary-Beth didn’t have it any easier, though she’s certainly more optimistic than I am. Tilly I think had the worst of us women. Kidnapped at a young age by a gang of boys and then forced to work for them. I think she killed one of them and had to run after that, but she was only about fifteen. She was the saddest thing we’d seen when she joined, but she’s now one of my good friends. 

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?” Arthur says, pulling me from my thoughts. 

My eyes snap to him. “Yes, sorry. I heard you.” 

“What’d I say then?” he says, grinning as he slams the butt of his pistol into the lock sealing the box on the back of the stagecoach. 

I put my hands on my hips and smirk at him. “You said you was thinking of going to Blackwater after we’re done with this.” I gesture to the other two stages ahead. This caravan proved to be a good take. 

“Oh, so you do listen to me on occasion?” he chuckles. He opens the box and reveals a small stack of cash. He takes it and begins counting. 

“Arthur, I only ignored you when we were kids because you were kind of an ass. Sorry to bust your bubble.” 

He laughs aloud and hands me my take. When I first joined the gang, Arthur was absolutely not a fan. I think he liked being the only kid in the gang and therefore the only one who Dutch and Hosea really had to worry about. Being younger than him and completely out of my element, I turned into their new focus. I could hardly do anything when I came into camp, not even read or write. 

Dutch and Hosea took it upon themselves to teach me how to read and write. Grimshaw taught me how to take care of camp, keeping it clean, fixing things and cooking. But it was up to Arthur to teach me how to shoot a gun and fight. That was the thing I struggled to learn the most was how to shoot, but I can’t honestly say it was because I struggled. Arthur even admits he was partially at fault too for being an unenthusiastic instructor. 

I remember when John joined the gang, Arthur got really sour. John became quite a bit of his responsibility and even I somewhat resented him for becoming Dutch’s golden child. John could do no wrong while the rest of us still had to pull our weight. Especially Arthur. He had to do a lot of work even before John, but after he had to pull even more because there were more people to support. 

I think he resented feeling like he had to look out for both me and John. Plus he was convinced at the time that I could not learn how to be a proper outlaw. There was one time when he’d been told by Hosea to take me out and go camping a couple of days. Arthur hated it so much he ended up ditching me for about two days and I had to find my own way back to camp. He found me right before I got into serious trouble, and he’s since apologized for doing it. Even if I were to bring it up now, he’d apologize and say he was an ass. 

If you’d told me then, when he’d ditched me, what Arthur would become to me, I wouldn’t have believed you. I’m not going to lie, I started to develop some affections for Arthur because after he’d abandoned me, he started being nicer and I could see his softer sides. He even admitted that the reason he didn’t like me at first wasn’t because I was Dutch and Hosea’s new protege, it was because he thought I was cute. However, this life wasn’t what he wanted for a sweet thing like me, or at least that’s what he says. But even he can’t deny I’m good at it. 

Arthur finishes packing up the rest of the items in the stage box. I’ve just finished looting the body of one of the stage drivers. I try not to kill too many people that we rob, but sometimes they don’t give me a choice. 

When we’re done looting, Arthur whistles and both our horses come trotting up. His mare Boadicea, a tall palomino Thoroughbred, nickers at him. My stallion comes up behind her. I’m extremely fond of this horse. He’s a gorgeous tri-colored Norfolk Roadster named Gopher. He shakes his black and white tail as I pat his brown and white piebald neck. 

Gopher is my first and only horse. Shortly after the incident where Arthur got me lost, he felt so bad that he took me into town and told me to pick a horse I liked. I never thought he’d buy me a horse, but Gopher was the one I picked. Honestly I don’t know why I picked that name for him. Guess I thought it was funny. He’s such a tall and strong horse, maybe I found it a bit of a joke to name him after something so tiny. He responds well to it though. 

“Mount up, darlin’,” Arthur says as I feed Gopher a carrot. I smile up at him and do as he says. The two of us quickly dash away from the caravan before someone finds it and can bust us. I look around at the environment surrounding me. I’ve always kind of liked it down here, just south of that new farm. Think it’s called MacFarlane’s Ranch. I’ve been hearing rumors that the owners want to try and make it sort of a trading post. Yeah, good luck with that, it’ll never happen. 

Once we’ve put a fair distance between ourselves and the caravan, Arthur and I slow our horses to a leisure trot. We pass easy chit chat. Arthur and I have come to depend on each other so much, there’s no one else we’re more comfortable with. I guess that’s why it was so easy for me to agree to marry him. 

About five or six years ago, Arthur and I were already solid friends. Of course, I was still sitting on my affections for him, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my friendship with him, and I had no idea he was sweet on me too. It was actually easy to pretend like I didn’t feel anything for him, at least most of the time. But then one time, we’d been on a hunting trip. After setting up camp, we’d had a bit to drink and I ended up kissing him. 

I thought Arthur would have forgotten the kiss by morning, but when I woke up he said we needed to talk about things. I thought he’d be furious and tell me he never wanted that. Instead, he ended up pulling me close and kissing me again. 

Things were pretty casual between us at first. But as time passed, as we went through trials that tested our relationship and came out stronger, it made more sense to be together. Things weren’t always easy between us, but our relationship already had a foundation of trust so it was easy for us to depend on the other during those hardships. I’ve never loved anyone more than Arthur, and I know he loves me more than the other women in his past. 

About a year ago, Arthur asked me to marry him. I couldn’t say no. I simply couldn’t imagine a future without Arthur by my side, and I knew how hard it was for Arthur to ask. How much he didn’t believe in the idea of true love because of his past. But we were already practically married by that point, so it made sense that we agree to officially tie the knot. But Arthur said it was more than that. He told me, when he’d asked, that it would mean more than anything else to him for me to be his wife, that nothing would give him a greater sense of pride and honor. 

We’re not married yet. We’ve both decided to wait until the gang has enough money to have a proper wedding. It’s getting close though, Dutch keeps saying that he wants to pull one more job. Honestly it was his idea to have Arthur and I wait to get married, but he kept saying he wanted to throw a proper wedding and party for us. To have a moral boost for everyone in the gang. Arthur and I would’ve been happy scurrying off to a church and just getting it done, but we both know Dutch would be disappointed. So we’ve held off on it. 

We go over a rise on the plain and in the distance, I see the tall spire of a building. That must be Blackwater. I look at Arthur curiously. Hosea said Blackwater was nothing more than a trading post. As we get closer, I see more buildings. Then we come upon the last rise and look down at Blackwater. Arthur stops his horse and pats her neck. 

“Thought Hosea said this place would be hardly anything?” I say. 

“Yeah, but he also said he ain’t been down here in a time. Guess it’s a small city now. Come on.” 

Arthur and I trot down the street towards the center of town. I look around at the buildings, most of them are two stories tall. It’s not a huge city, relatively small actually, but as we travel around, I can see why it’s boomed as quickly as it has. On the east end is a dock on the massive Flat Iron Lake. Might as well be an inland sea. It’s position here for Blackwater has obviously proved to be an excellent trading post. As we continue to wander, I see a billboard advertising the coming railroad. 

We ride up to the saloon and Arthur stops, saying he wants to get a drink there. 

“I’ll meet you in a minute. Gonna go to the store, pick up a few things.” I dismount and hitch Gopher to a post next to Boadicea. Arthur tips his hat to me as we part. I smile, knowing that this is essentially his way of kissing me. He is not big on public displays of affection. Hell, even in camp, sometimes he can barely hold my hand. I don’t mind though, it makes the times we’re alone more special. 

When I walk into the store, an older man greets me from behind the counter. Instantly I notice the way he takes in my form and I can tell he’s judging me. He pretends to go back to sorting small boxes of candy, but I can tell he’s keeping an eye on me. Not like I’d be dumb enough to rob him though. 

Ignoring him, I inspect the shelves. I grab a couple cans of food and some cigarettes. I’ve noticed that lately the company Arthur and I usually buy from have been putting little cards inside the boxes. I’ve been holding onto the ones I’ve collected, though I don’t really know why. 

As I start to approach the counter, I spot a shelf of journals. It stops me. Arthur used to have an old journal. As long as I’ve known him, he’s had one in his satchel that he’s written and drawn in frequently. He’s such a private man though, it never surprised me that he’d keep one. When I’d learned to read and write, Arthur helped me to keep one too. 

However, we’ve both since lost our journals. A few months ago, our gang resided in a ranch house. It’d been our home for a year or two. It was the closest thing I’d known to a home since I was very young. Then there was an accident and the house caught fire. No one was hurt, thank God, but both mine and Arthur’s satchels were inside, along with our journals. 

He’s replaced his satchel but hasn’t had the opportunity to replace his journal. I think he misses it though. I know it was important to him. After I set down the few goods in my arms, I pull out my money and count it. Damn, I only have enough money to buy the journal and that’s it. No matter. I can grab cans of food at camp and I don’t really need the cigarettes. 

After setting the items back on their shelves (mostly so I don’t make the store owner mad), I return to the shelf and pick out the journal with the best leather. I slip it open and inspect the pages, making sure there’s no tears or folds. It looks good and it can hold a lot of entries. I know Arthur, he’ll have this thing filled up in a year, maybe less. 

I go up to the counter and hand the owner the journal. He gives me a glare and then he slips open the journal. Did he think I slipped something inside in order to steal it? Please, there’s hardly anything in this dump of a store worth taking. I stay silent, but I glare back at him. Dutch would not like it if I got arrested or in another fist fight. Nor would Arthur because he’d end up jumping in too. 

After the owner gives me the journal, I put it in my satchel and walk across the street to the saloon. I slip my hand under my hat and scratch my hairline as I look around. Arthur’s not at the bar, but I spot him sitting at one of the tables, two plates of food on the table. He waves me over and I go sit across from him. 

“Here,” he says and slides a plate of prairie chicken over to me. God it smells good. 

“Didn’t know Blackwater was privy to such good food,” I say as I take a bite. It’s cooked perfectly with just the right amount of herbs to give it a delicious flavor. 

“Me neither. But I talked with the barman a bit,” Arthur says casually. “Guess Blackwater got big about two years ago when they built the docs.”

“Well and I guess it helps to be the biggest town between Armadillo and whatever town lies on the other side of here,” I say. 

“Exactly.” 

I hum around another bite. We talk easily as we eat. Once we’re done, we walk outside and grab our horses. There really isn’t much more of Blackwater to see at the moment, but we pass through the north side. There’s buildings up here that are still being built, though it’s hard to see what they are going to be. 

As we approach the docs once more, I see a pier sitting over the water, the middle of it covered but the end open to the air. I look at Arthur and gesture to it. It’ll be a good place for me to give him his journal. Arthur is not a materialistic man for sure, but I know that a journal will be important to him. I know how much he’s missed it since the fire. Certainly more than I have. 

At first Arthur looks as though he’s going to say he doesn’t want to go onto the pier, but then he stops Boadicea. “Sure,” he says in his gruff voice. I smile at him. As we walk down the planks, he slips my hand into his. For such a big, burly man, he can be very sweet and soft. 

Once we’re at the end of the pier, we lean on the rails and look out at the water, watching as a boat glides silently away. My hand is still in his, but we don’t say anything. We don’t have to. That’s one of the many things about Arthur that I love. We can sit in complete silence and still know what the other is saying, almost as though we can communicate without words. It’s a skill we’ve learned through our many hunting trips together. 

After a few moments, I slip my hand out of his. “I found something for you at the store,” I say. My stomach does a little backflip as I reach into my satchel and pull out the journal. Arthur looks at it for a second and then he takes it, gently slipping the cover open. I look at his blue eyes as he inspects the journal. When they meet my brown ones, they crinkle as he smiles. 

“Thank you, darlin’. I can’t tell ya how much I’ve missed havin’ one of these.” 

“I know. That’s why I bought it for you.”

He grins and then does something that is rare for him. He gently grabs me and pulls me tight to his chest, the journal pinned between us, and then he kisses me. We’ve only kissed a few times in public like this. Like I said, Arthur is not big on being romantic in view of other people. Personally though, I love it. My arms drape over his shoulders and I really press myself into the kiss. 

He chuckles and pulls away, his hands on my hips. “Easy now, darlin’, last thing we need is to be gettin’ arrested for public indecency. Ain’t no one wanna see our bare cheeks over here.” 

“Please, Arthur. We’d only be giving ‘em a show worth watching,” I tease. I get the result I was going for, which is Arthur blushing. 

“Yeah, well maybe I like keepin’ you and your body to myself, darlin’.” He gives me one last peck on the lips before releasing me. I think Arthur wants to be more intimate in public, but I know why he’s not. In camp, he’s known for being one of the toughest men in the gang. If he were to relent and be affectionate with me, he’d get teased and labeled soft. I respect him enough to not ask him to change, plus we go out together so much that it makes up for it. 

After a few more moments remaining in one another’s embrace, we part and begin walking back down the pier towards our horses. We mount up and ride out of town, heading south of Blackwater towards an outlet of one of the many rivers that empties into Flat Iron Lake. It’s a place on the map marked as Quaker’s Cove. That’s where we’ve been camped for the last few months. 

When our ranch home burned to the ground, Dutch and Hosea decided to move our gang into the West Grizzlies, looking for a new place to settle into. We really didn’t come upon much though and we moved our camp every few weeks. 

The reason for the constant moving is because the law out here is changing and rapidly. Back when we were teenagers, robbing folk was easy. Often enough, the law we hid from was just as crooked as we were, so they were easy to trick or tip off. Now though, with Uncle Sam organizing more agencies and sending them out further west, it’s getting harder and harder. I just thank God we haven’t attracted any Pinkerton agents. From what I’ve heard, they’re relentless. I’ve also picked up rumors they can be particularly nasty while pursuing their targets. 

As our gang wandered and searched for a new place to call home, dodging lawmen and bounty hunters, we stumbled into a few people who have since become incorporated into the gang. There’s a young girl named Jenny, sweet and optimistic. I think she’s around eighteen. A good friend of mine and Arthur’s, young Lenny, has been particularly taken with her. Personally, I think they’re adorable. 

Another person we picked up is a man named Charles Smith. He’s a black and Native American man, quiet, stoic, but he’s kind and pretty devoted to our gang. A couple months back, he started teaching me how to use his bow and track game. It’s a mark of how trusting Arthur and I are with each other, he’s never suspected me of fooling around with Charles while I’ve been out with him. Of course, I’d never do that. Sure, Charles is handsome but I don’t feel any attraction to him. We are nothing more than friends. 

The last person to have joined us since is Micah Bell. He’s cocky and easy to anger and honestly, I don’t like him. He has no respect for anyone aside from Dutch, and I’ve seen him try to sweet talk him a little too often. Luckily Dutch doesn’t really seem to care much for his talk either. I’m honestly not sure why Dutch brought him into the gang, but maybe it’s because he’s able to sniff out good jobs. Or maybe he just has a fast mouth, I don’t really know. 

At one point, Dutch and Hosea found a plot of land that looked extremely promising. We were all for buying it as we had plenty of money. However, as we got closer to sealing the deal, Dutch got cold feet. The jobs we’d been pulling lately were not going smoothly, frequently ending with confrontations with the law. Dutch kept suspecting we were being watched or that somebody knew who he was. So we ended up abandoning the idea of buying that land and then moved down here to Quaker’s Cove, much to Arthur’s and Hosea’s dislike. 

I must admit, I was nervous about being so close to a city like Blackwater at first. It’s not really our forte as it’s too easy to be picked up by the law, but Dutch said we needed to shake things up. I think he’s still suspicious about being followed. After all, that’s why he’s brought us down here, even though we were supposed to head out further west. That’s where Arthur and I wanted to go anyways. 

Still I must admit being this close to a city has its perks. Maybe Arthur and I will spend some of our nights in town, sleep in an actual bed. I have missed that probably the most from our old ranch house. All Arthur and I have in our camp now is two cots pushed together in our big tent. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to spend a night alone with Arthur. 

After riding about ten minutes, the land dips and Quaker’s Cove comes into view. I look lazily on the sight as our horses trot. Our camp is dotted around a small, rather shabby pier. I think at one point this area used to be frequent stops for river boats as there’s an old, abandoned one at the pier. But maybe when they built the pier in Blackwater, there was no need for this one, so it’s been left to fall apart. 

The tents and wagons used for shelter are dotted around the pier, three campfires spread around. One sits in the very middle of camp, an iron spit strung above it. Not far from it is Pearson’s wagon. I’m not sure if other gangs have a cook (having never been a part of any others myself), but it is nice. He’s actually got a pretty good set up, mostly thanks to the setup we had at the ranch house. As we approach, I can already smell the chicken he’s got cooking in his iron pot. 

Arthur and I lead our horses down to the hitching posts. Once we’re dismounted, I start unsaddling and grooming Gopher before letting him loose to graze with the other horses. Arthur’s already done with Boadicea and heading off to talk with Dutch to let him know about the caravan we just robbed. 

I go into camp and over to my tent that I share with Arthur. It’s one of the three tents in camp. One good thing about being such a long time member of the gang is having our own tent. Before Arthur and I were together, I had my own but I gave it to John when it made more sense for Arthur and I to share. For some reason, Hosea doesn’t have his own tent. I asked him why once, he just said he’s more comfortable on the ground. Not sure if I believe him, but he won’t have his own tent. 

I reach into my satchel and pull out some of the trinkets I stole from the caravan. Arthur and I have quite a few things spread around our tent. Over the years, we’ve collected a lot of things. The only reason we’ve kept them is due to their uniqueness. For example, I have a pair of small shark jaws I bought from some wandering salesman years ago. There’s also a few other odd items around, pelts and decorated canvases. 

As I set down a box of candies, my hand bumps into a tiny jar with a flower inside. It’s Arthur’s flower. I can’t help but smile at it. He’s had it for many years. I asked him why as it seems to be a favorite item of his and he told me it’s because the flower reminded him of his mother. I understand the sentiment, having an old locket of my mother’s, which happens to be the only thing of hers I still have.

Just as I finish unloading the last few things, I hear my name being called by Arthur. I turn and exit the tent, spotting him standing next to the main table of camp. It’s an old wooden thing, dotted with many stains. Mostly from food but a few are from blood. A result of many gang members’ risky games of five finger fillet. At the table sits Hosea. 

Over the years, Hosea really has become the closest thing I’ve ever known to a father. Sure, Dutch has helped in my education, but I’ve always viewed him as more of a tutor. He has always been the one to push me to do jobs, to get tougher and better. Hosea is the one who makes sure I’m okay, that I’m safe and happy. He’s been like that since he found me as a kid. 

“What’s goin’ on?” I ask the men. 

Arthur smiles at me, one hand gripping his gun belt. “Need your help with somethin’.” 

“I’ve got an idea for a job,” Hosea says. He puts on his hat and looks up at me. “I was in Blackwater, lookin’ around. Saw an ad in the newspaper for some land for sale. I read it and the guy tryin’ to sell the land was touting how it’s a prime piece of real estate, ripe for someone lookin’ to build a ranch that will become a small town in it of its own.” Hosea chuckles at the thought. 

“Where’s this goin’?” I ask kindly. I can tell Hosea’s about to loop me into one of his grand hustles. 

“I was thinkin’ you and I pose as a father and daughter from New York or somewhere along those lines. Keep the agent busy while Arthur sneaks in, grabs his files. I wanna see what other properties he has and then come up from under him. Sell them as ours and run off with the money.” 

I can’t help but laugh. “You think it’ll work?”

“I don’t imagine why not. If he ends up getting hot feet, we’ll point out how he’s oversold the property I saw to spin a profit. I can’t imagine that land is worth more than a few thousand, yet he’s selling it as if it had a house and barn already built. Besides, a huckster like this fella won’t go to the law.” 

I chuckle at this. “You would know, I suppose. But sounds promising. Guess I just need to go into town, buy some clothes that fit the part of a New Yorker’s wealthy daughter.” 

“Well, I know you love playin’ dress up,'' Hosea teases. I know why he picked me to do this job. He and I have played off the father-dauther thing before and because we already have a similar relationship to that, it’s easy for us to pull off. 

For the next hour or two, we discuss the plan, smoothing out wrinkles. Arthur’s obviously excited, but I think it’s because he’s just thrilled to pull an elaborate job with Hosea. I am too. He’s got such a gift of pulling these outrageous jobs and tricking people. 

Just as we’re about to wrap up, I hear a horse trotting up. Looking over to see who’s returning, I spot Micah. Thinking nothing of it, I turn back to the other two until I hear Micah approaching Dutch. 

“I think I picked up a tip for somethin’ in town, Dutch. You said you was lookin’ for a new score.” 

Dutch, who’s reading a book under his canopy, looks up at Micah. “What is it?” 

Micah grins and rubs his hands together. “I was in town, drinkin’ with some fellas. One of ‘em said there’s a river boat laden with cash comin’ into town.” 

“Okay,” Dutch says, almost cautiously. It’s obvious he isn’t taking Micah completely to heart. Not like myself and Arthur. Micah simply hasn’t earned the right to move Dutch to immediate action. 

“Think about it, Dutch. A river boat, tons of cash. I think it’s the perfect thing for us to take. The law in Blackwater is pretty easy, think we can fool ‘em simple enough.” 

Dutch sighs, he marks the spot in his book and closes it. “Sounds interesting. But before I make a decision, I want you to go back into town, keep on investigating this river boat. When you’ve got more information, we’ll see about pulling it.”

Micah looks almost as though he’s going to argue, but then he backs away a bit. “Of course, Dutch. I’ll go and dig about a bit, but I really think this will be the perfect job. Give us that last bit of money you need then we can disappear to California or Oregon or wherever you and Hosea were talkin’ about.” 

Something about his tone tips me off. He’s playing this thing real chummy and he didn’t seem entirely thrilled that Dutch didn’t automatically say yes. Plus he’s never really seemed to like the idea of heading out that far west with the gang, so I don’t know why he’s bringing it up now. However, I hardly doubt anything will come of it. Even if we end up pulling the job, I’m sure we’ll get out with minimal problems. I go back to talking with Arthur and Hosea, quickly putting Micah’s job to the back of my mind. 

By the time night has fallen, I’m sitting at the edge of the pier, my feet dangling over the water. I hear heavy footfalls and I turn. Immediately I smile when I see it’s Arthur. 

“Hey there,” he says, taking a seat next to me. I respond by wrapping my hand around his and leaning over to rest my head on his shoulder. However he slips his hand out of mine and then wraps his arm around my shoulder. 

“You took your hair down,” he says, gently tugging on a lock of my long, brown hair. It’s wavy from being held in a braid all day. 

“Well yeah. Sometimes it’s nice to let it loose. I think I need to cut it though.” 

“I don’t think so. I like it this length,” Arthur says and he gently kisses my forehead when I look up at him. At this moment, I could not be happier. I’m home, with those I call family, sitting next to the love of my life. I don't have a care in the world right now. Who knows? If this real estate scam goes well or if this river boat thing happens, maybe Arthur and I can finally tie the knot like we’ve been wanting to do for so long. But for now, I am happy and eager to see what the future has in store.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are highly appreciated. In fact, I could not place more weight on their importance to me. Please don't think I'll think your comment is stupid or even too little. I love them! I would not be creating without your support, please know that! Much love to my readers!


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